


Treacle

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [73]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:12:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5502422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>treacle: noun: ˈtrēk(ə)l: cloying sentimentality or flattery, or the British term for Molasses</p><p>Middle English (originally denoting an antidote against venom): from Old French triacle, via Latin from Greek thēriakē ‘antidote against venom,’ feminine of thēriakos (adjective), from thērion ‘wild beast.’ The sense ‘molasses’ dates from the late 17th century; ‘sentimentality’ arose in the late 18th century</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treacle

He was about to dash up the steps to 221B when he was smacked with the scent of Mrs. Hudson's treacle tarts. 

"Damn. It must be two days before Christmas, that's the only time she bakes those."

He sat down on the bottom step and realized he hadn't bought a single gift for anyone.

"Oh! Sherlock! Come in, they are fresh from my oven, I know how much you love them, so I thought I'd bake you two a batch."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, I'll take them up. I just have to figure out what to get John, I totally lost track of time-"

"Dear, you always do, you know he doesn't care about that-never has."

"I know, I just wanted to get him something special this year."

"Why? What is different this year?"

Sherlock sighed and shook his head. "We are uhm, ya know-"

"Haven't you always?"

"Nooooo-he was married for a bit-remember?"

"Oh, to that Mary person, never did trust that one-"

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What should I get for John?"

"Oh...hmmmm...maybe a song? You should write him a symphony or something-"

"-or something...hmmm...Mrs. H- you are a genius!" He leaped from her overstuffed chair, kissed her on both cheeks, and whispered, "I'll be back for the tarts later, promise."

He ran upstairs grabbed a pen and a sheet of decent writing paper, miraculously not buried in mounds of forensic journals...he really should get back to that case...FOCUS, Sherlock. Christmas in two days, case can wait for a couple of hours.

"Alright...hmmm...a love note...must not be overly sentimental...no treacle, he'd laugh..."

Draft 1:

"Dear(est?) John-

You may think this is a last ditch attempt at a present, and in some ways, it is. I've been wanting to tell you exactly how the last two months have been since, we, you, us...became us...

Draft 2:

John-

John. Hmmm. You. That is. Damn.

Draft 3:

J-

Final draft (version 46):

John-I've spent six hours(ok, it's been only 45 minutes) attempting to put into words what you mean to me. And I have come to the conclusion that the English language is no match for my feelings, some day I will be able to write a dissertation on the hows and whys and wherefores, but today, I am at a loss. Our new thing, this 'us' we have become is too fragile, too fresh for me to try to analyze it. All I know is that I breathe easier when you are near me. My heart does a funny thing, like a hum, when you are about to kiss me after a day of work, it's almost like a swarm of bees, warm and fuzzy....see? I turn into a child describing a first crush, instead of an adult constructing a sonnet or ode or haiku naming those grown up sentiments; my brain fails me. If you were here, I could-"

"...could what, love?" John whispered in his ear, in that voice, the voice that had sent him barreling over the edge in the wee hours of that morning.

"Show you?" 

"Don't you know?"

"What?"

"I know already. I've always known, but I was always terrified."

"Of what?"

"Losing you? Or destroying that whatever bond we always shared. Even when you were gone, I still felt you around me, somehow. And then after everything that happened, I didn't think you could possibly still want me or trust me, even."

Sherlock finally turned towards John who had collapsed to his knees. "No, love. Please?" He rose from his chair bringing John with him. "Can we leave the past where it belongs? I love you, I love us, this new, shiny thing that as you can tell I can't even describe it to my satisfaction, but you know what I want after you kiss me?"

"Hmmm?"

"At least six of those treacle tarts that are about to come out of Mrs. Hudson's oven, even as we speak."

John gigglesnorted and shook his head as he reached into the crazy mass of curls and pulled Sherlock into a dizzying kiss.

Sherlock hummed, then stood up to his full height, which is never quite as tall as people think and grabbed John's hand almost pulling him down the stairs to get to the flat below.

"Oh boys-" Mrs. Hudson sighed and laughed, knowing they were never going to change.


End file.
